Paths We Choose
by DerpyWinston
Summary: (Partial crossover with TWT,TIN)(One-Shot) On a night of surprising occurrences and accidents, Pony thought that nothing else could turn out for the worst. His friend had been bludgeoned, and he didn't have much to go home to other than his brother, Darry, ever since Soda had been drafted into the Vietnam War. However when he returned home, Pony encounters the unexpected.


I remember when Johnny first revealed to the gang that he was abused by his parents. Tears and blood were glittering down his cheeks, and a deep gash was slit across the side of his face from his dad's belt. I remember seeing Johnny bundled up in Soda's arms, crying and bleeding, whimpering about the Socs who'd jumped him, and I especially remember Johnny rasping his last words into my ear, then hearing his final breath escape from his lips.

Johnny's life was almost ceaseless misery, and every blow he received ricocheted tenfold on the gang. After he died, the gang and I were devastated, and Dallas's violent exit made nothing any easier to bare.

There were thoughts that did substantially decrease the unbelievable pain that I felt after they died that night: As hard as it was to lose him, I knew that wherever he was, Johnny would never again feel the cruel hand of fate, and Dallas was right alongside him.

We don't control how life plays out, but we do pick the paths that shape the game.

It was the night of the school dance, and I was spending it in a car with my concussed friend, a boy who hated me, and his girlfriend.

Mark was the one with the concussion. There was a thick white bandage wrapped around the side of his face, concealing the long, deep gash he'd obtained from a busted bottle that was intended for me. As grateful as I was that he'd taken the blow, his ceaseless humming almost made me want to cut the other side of his face, as well.

Bryon was Mark's best friend, and they were practically brothers - Much like the gang. He hated me, though, and I couldn't tell you why even if you payed me or threatened to cut off my hair again. There was no rhyme or reason that I knew of for him to hate me, and I imagine it's been that way since he first heard my name.

Bryon stopped the car on the curb beside my house. I looked in the rear-view mirror and smiled at him in silent thanks, but he only only looked forward at the road with his hands on the wheel. I stopped smiling and slipped out of the car, then began to walk down the path to my house, waving to mark, when someone inside it said, "Hey, Ponyboy."

I thought it was going to be Mark trying to get my attention before he puked on my legs, but it was Byron. He was twisted around in his carseat, a half smile on his face. His stare felt a bit warmer than it usually would when he'd look at me.

"Thanks for helping with Mark and hot wiring my car."

"It was no problem," I laughed. "You might wanna lock your doors next time, though. You're lucky I was the only one who wanted to break into it." Bryon let out a sharp noise that was caught somewhere between a huff and a laugh.

"Anyway, thanks," he said again. "You're an alright kid."

I nodded and shut the door, then Bryon drove away.

After unlocking the gate and cringing as the hinges screeched open, I walked down the small concrete pathway that led to the front door of my small house. The door was unlocked, like always, and I quickly shuffled inside away from the bitingly cold air.

About six months ago, Sodapop and Steve were drafted overseas to Vietnam. Now it was only Darry and I that lived in the house, and sometimes Two-Bit would drop by. But even though Darry's muscles took up more space than was humanly necessary and Two-Bit's yelling was enough to make anyone's head explode, there was an empty void where Soda and Steve should have been. Even though I didn't really like Steve all that much, and his feelings for me weren't any different, with the both of them gone it feels like a part of my life's missing, sent across the world with the two greasers. The two of them would send letters when they could, telling us how much they missed us (well, that was mostly Soda, but we assume Steve misses us, too) and when they think they'll be able to visit, and a whole bunch of other news that they could come up with. We hadn't gotten one in a few weeks, but Darry and I were anxiously hoping that one would arrive soon.

Two-Bit must have found another place to sleep for the night, because when I entered the house Darry was the only one I could see, and it was too silent for Two-Bit to be around. There was a letter in Darry's hands, and I began smiling so wide that I thought my cheeks were going to crack.

"Soda finally write us?" I asked him, and happily bounded over to the couch and jumped down on it beside Darry. He didn't reply, so I slipped the paper from his hands with a little struggle. Darry's grip was unnaturally tight for just a letter from Soda, and I smoothed out the wrinkles that had formed where his hand was.

The paper was too formal to be handwritten, or even from Sodapop, so I thought it was a bill. But before I set it down, Soda's name, written in the ink letters, caught my eye, and I sat back down to read it.

Like Darry, my grip on the paper tightened as I finished reading.

Over the past few weeks, I'd seen people crying in the hallways at school, slumped over into someone's arms for comfort because their friend or a family member had been killed in the war. I never thought that I, too, would get the letter saying that I would never see my brother again. I was wrong, though. On the paper, beside Soda's name, was written three letters that only meant one thing. Soda had been killed.

I looked over at Darry, tears rapidly flooding my eyes like a river. He looked at me, his eyes wet as well, but neither of us said a word. Even though the house was quiet before, it now seemed like the whole world ceased to make noise. Darry and I only stared at each other, holding back tears with difficulty, until I finally broke down and threw myself into my brother's arms with tears cascading down my face.

I didn't want to believe it because I knew it wasn't true. Soda was always there, always strong and understanding. He couldn't be gone. It wasn't possible that my brother was gone.

And then I remembered that I told myself the same things about Johnny and Dallas, and they've been gone for about a year now.

Johnny. Abused and hurt, but still caring and was always there.

Dallas. Hard, cold, and mean, with his strong, burning hatred for the world and every living thing on it.

Soda. Loving, caring, and understanding. . . They were all gone.

Darry wrapped his arms around my heaving back, and I could feel small wet drops hitting my head, so I knew that Darry had started crying, too.

There wasn't much to say or much to do other than sit there, crying into each others' arms, so that's what we did. It may have been five minutes, an hour, or a year that we sat there crying against each other, but it didn't matter to me. Time felt meaningless and pointless as I tried to think of a future without my brother in it. It wasn't possible to think of it, because he had always been there for me and now he would never do so much as pat my shoulder again.

Sniffing, I sat up and looked at Darry, whose face looked as if he'd just come back inside from a rainstorm. I knew I couldn't look much better. Darry pursed his lips and sighed, leaning back against the couch and looking at the note that at been discarded onto the floor when I began mindlessly sobbing. I looked at it, too, and kicked it away. I didn't want to look at it.

"How are we gonna tell Two?" I asked quietly, shifting my eyes over to Darry. Tears still threatened to roll down my cheeks, but I held them back.

"We'll find a way," he sighed, still looking at the spot on the floor where the letter had been previously.

I nodded and looked down at my hands that were dangling off my knees. I bit my lower lip. "Dare, we're gonna be alright, ain't we?"

He sat back up and lightly slung his arm across my shoulders, looking at my face with a slight hint of a sad, watery smile. "We're gonna be alright, little buddy."


End file.
